A Good Old Fashioned Date, Sort of
by LilMissLibra
Summary: Iceland wants to go on a date, but Norway and Denmark just want to stay in. They'll probably indulge him, though, since he's so cute.


"Well, I'm exhausted," Denmark announced, flopping onto the king-sized bed in their hotel room. "I know we get a lot more done when Germany runs these meetings, but sheesh is he a hardass."

Norway flopped down next to him, murmuring a soft "mhm" in agreement.

"Guys," Iceland protested. He stared down at the two with his hands on his hips.

"What is it, Ice?" Norway mumbled into the pillow.

"When's the last time we went out?"

"We are out," Denmark replied.

"As in on a date."

"We ate out last night," Norway offered.

"We ate at the hotel restaurant with Finland and Sweden."

"It resulted in sex; that counts as a date in my book," Denmark declared, and Iceland let out a huff.

"This is why you two aren't considered very romantic countries. Speaking of which, we're in _Paris_, the city of romance. Why don't we go out tonight?"

"Too tired," Denmark mumbled.

Norway sat up, smiling mischievously. "Are you feeling neglected, Iceland?"

"No, nope," said the younger nation, pushing away hands that were sliding around his waist. "If you're too tired to go out, you're definitely too tired for sex."

Norway flopped back down, groaning. "You deal with him," he said to Denmark.

"What would you like to do, Ice?" he asked.

"Uh, well, I thought maybe dinner..."

"Where?"

"Um, somewhere in the city?"

"Do you even remember any French? You know, Parisians are notorious for refusing to speak English."

"Oh, um..." It had been a long time since Iceland had spoken French. He had never really needed it. Danish, Norwegian, and of course English, with the occasional Swedish and even a tiny bit of Finnish, he used. He tried to keep up with German, and he was currently learning Cantonese. But no French, not for about 200 years.

He flopped down on the bed next to Norway. "Nevermind, it was a stupid idea."

"Iceland," said Norway quietly, "do you really want to go out?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Denmark."

"Ugh, fine, I'm on it." He sat up and made a call on his cellphone. Iceland heard France's faint voice from the other side of the line, and Denmark began to speak with him in rapid French. Iceland picked up a few words here and there. He could make out his name and something about "demanding." He sent a glare to the older nation.

Denmark thanked France, and the other nation said something that Iceland didn't understand. Denmark laughed slightly before answering congenially, and Norway snorted.

"France is going to pull some strings for us," Denmark said after hanging up.

"He speaks English, doesn't he?" Iceland asked curiously. Every time he had to meet with the nation for negotiations, they spoke to each other in English.

"Yes, but if you're going to ask him for a favor, it's best to do it in French," Denmark answered.

"You absolutely _must_ do something about that accent, Denmark!" Norway said in a mock French accent.

"Heh, I used to be pretty good with French. That is, until after Napoleon." The three of them fell silent. They didn't talk about the Napoleonic War, if they could avoid it. Especially not what happened afterwards...Denmark reached over Norway to poke Iceland. "Hey, I just spoke French for you," he said jokingly. "You could at least say thanks."

Iceland crawled over Norway to give Denmark a peck on the lips. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Oi," Norway said, grabbing the younger nation around the waist and flipped over to pin him down. "I can't believe that after all the trouble I went through to teach you French, you just forgot it all."

"Sorry," Iceland replied, giving him a smile.

"Are you sure you don't just want to stay in tonight, Ice?" Denmark asked, throwing an arm around the both of them and nuzzling the younger's neck.

"I'm positive." Iceland tried to keep his composure when both Norway and Denmark smiled at him wolfishly. "You guys are going to wrinkle your suits if you keep rolling around like that."

They took a taxi into the city later that night, after changing out of their world meeting attire. Iceland wore a turtleneck, since he now sported two new hickeys. "Punishment," Norway had said, "for forgetting all the French we taught you." He had also had to take a cold shower, and his hair was still slightly damp. Damn those two.

France was the only nation, other than Sweden and Finland, who understood their relationship, who hadn't demanded an explanation how three people could date each other at the same time. "Love is easily shared between people who care for one another," he had said. So it wasn't surprising that when they arrived at the restaurant he had gotten them a reservation for, the wait staff didn't question them either. They were ushered to a table in a quiet corner with three place settings and even a candle. Iceland tried his best not to grimace at how clichéd he felt, because really it was nice to be treated like the three of them were on a date. Usually people made all sorts of strange assumptions about them, and the most common was that Iceland was the third wheel.

When their waiter came, Iceland had remembered enough French to order his food, and Denmark and Norway laughed at how proud he looked. It got the younger thinking about languages again. They had never quite come to a decision on what language to speak with one another. Iceland could speak Norwegian and Danish perfectly, but the others could not speak his own language nearly as well. They had considered an old language that they had all shared, but that felt too stuffy, and any constructed languages felt silly. They tended to speak Danish, simply because that's what they had done for hundreds of years, but Norway protested that it wasn't a romantic language. So in the restaurant, at the table set for the three of them, they murmured to each other in Norwegian.

After they had split dessert and sipped coffee, Denmark led them through the city to, in Iceland's opinion, the most clichéd monument in the world. "Are we really going up in the Eiffel Tower?" he asked incredulously, ignoring the people around them who stared at his hands which clasped both Norway's and Denmark's.

"I thought you said you wanted a date in the city of romance," Norway said teasingly. "What's more romantic than this?"

"What's romantic about standing in line for over two hours to get in a crowded elevator?"

Denmark pinched his cheek lightly. "Don't worry, I've got it worked out." He smiled as the younger nation blushed brightly.

"Don't treat me like a kid," Iceland grumbled.

"If I treated you like a kid, would I have...?" Denmark whispered things into his ear that made the young nation blush even deeper. And need another cold shower. Damn him, and damn Norway for grinning at him suggestively.

They walked straight up to the ticket booth, and Denmark spoke to the woman behind the counter briefly.

"Oh, we've been expecting you," she said in heavily accented English. Not that Iceland had any right to judge, since America always complained that his was incomprehensible. "Welcome to _Tour Eiffel_!"

"_Merci_," he said quietly.

They were put in their own elevator and taken straight to the top. Norway convinced Denmark that there were indeed cameras in there, and they therefore shouldn't consider themselves alone. That stopped him from getting handsy, but Norway made up for that by muttering things to them in a low voice in Norwegian that many wouldn't expect out of the quiet nation. When they finally got to the top, Iceland wondered if he should really be surprised that this date was turning out to just be extended foreplay.

As cliché as it was, Iceland was amazed by the view of the city. The lights sparkled across the night sky. He leaned against a guard rail next to Norway and stared out.

"Lovely," Denmark said, standing a little bit back from them.

"Yes, it is," Norway agreed.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about Paris." Norway and Iceland groaned simultaneously. "What? I thought that was a good one!" He wedged himself between them and wrapped an arm around each of them.

"Cheap lines like that will make people think you're some kind of pimp," Iceland said, but he leaned into the taller nation anyway.

"Who cares?" Denmark said, giving him a wide grin, but he sounded sort of strange.

"Is this what you wanted, Iceland?" Norway asked, also sounding sort of strange. Iceland couldn't figure out what sounded strange until he answered them.

"_Já_." Of course, they were speaking to him in his own language. He looked at them in surprise, but that quickly changed into a deep flush. They sounded really good in his language. Like, _really_ good. Okay, he had lied to himself earlier. They didn't speak Icelandic with other often, not because Denmark and Norway couldn't speak it fluently. It was because whenever Iceland heard his lovers speak to him in his own language, _well_…

"Looks like we're getting laid tonight," Denmark mused, still speaking Icelandic.

"We've learned a few new words and phrases that I think you'll like," Norway purred, suddenly on the other side of Iceland. He interrupted the older nation before he could relay those new words.

"B-back to the hotel," he managed. "_Now_."

They didn't bother to speak one specific language during sex, because it would come out all jumbled up. Iceland, who didn't like to mix languages usually, was the worst offender. One sentence could contain Icelandic, some strange combination of Norwegian and Danish, and that night even featured some long forgotten French. Later he would refuse to explain how he had learned some of those French words, no matter how much the other two bugged him.

* * *

**AN: I started writing this as just a cute DenNorIce date fic, but then it got out of control, and they ended up talking about sex a lot, so sorry about that! I guess that's sort of how Iceland feels, too. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!**


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